Ho Ho Mistletoe
by Teobi
Summary: The castaways' third Christmas is approaching. As they prepare for the festivities, they realise there's just one thing missing. Something that might add that little extra sparkle to the proceedings. They hope! MAG based, with a little G/P. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** After thinking I was headed for a nasty bout of writer's block, JWood201 and I had a brainstorming session and came up with some festive plot bunnies, proving that two heads really are better than one, and that a problem shared is a problem halved. _

_So here goes with the Seasonal fic I thought I'd never write. Happy Holidays!_

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><p><strong>Ho Ho Mistletoe<strong>

Chapter One

It was December, and Christmas was fast approaching. On the island, it meant a change of temperature- it got hotter. But the humidity dropped, and as the castaways busied themselves with preparations, they were thankful for the cooler evening breezes.

This was to be their third Christmas shipwrecked. After the first, they hadn't expected to be on the island for another whole year, let alone two, so they had discarded all of the decorations they made, even though they had spent a lot of time and effort on them. After the second Christmas they did exactly the same, because by the Skipper's reckoning, keeping them was as good as admitting they were still going to be stranded in another twelve months time.

And yet, twelve months on, here they all were. Still stranded, and having to make brand new Christmas decorations all over again.

The girls, however, enjoyed it. It gave them something fun to do- something that wasn't a chore or a duty. They enjoyed playing with baubles and bows, making pretty things. They took a box full of odds and assortments into their hut and sat down at the table to start working.

"Do you know what I miss the most about Christmas?" Ginger tied a blue ribbon to a bauble made from a hollowed out parrot's egg hardened with nail polish. "The parties. You haven't been to a party until you've been to a Hollywood party!" She gave a wistful sigh and gazed dreamily at Mary Ann across the table.

Mary Ann smiled. "Then I guess I haven't been to a party," she replied, sorting through all the paraphernalia on the table, searching for a particular seashell she had spotted earlier.

"The beautiful gowns, the champagne, handsome hunks wherever you look!" Ginger threw her head back and let her flame red tresses bounce around her face. "And not forgetting the best bit. The gossip!"

Mary Ann laughed. "Back home, a party consists of a hog roast and square dancing, and by the end of the night you're lucky if there are three men still standing so they can carry the others home." She located her seashell and held it up for appraisal.

Ginger grinned. "Sounds like a party to me!"

"Oh, we had some parties, all right. Except most of the gossip was about pie tampering at the Bake Off, and what Old Man Jefferson was feeding his bulls to make them bigger than everybody else's."

Ginger wrinkled her nose. "Hmm. Give me Rock Hudson's private life any day!"

There was a knock at the door. It was such a familiar knock by now that the girls didn't even have to ask who it was. "Come in, Gilligan!" they chorused together, not even bothering to look up.

The door squeaked open and the first mate strolled in. "How did you know it was me?"

"Who else would it be?" Ginger teased.

Gilligan shrugged. "Anybody."

Ginger gave another wistful sigh. "Anybody? I'll take Gregory Peck."

"Sorry," said Gilligan. "I haven't seen him around these parts lately. But if I do, I'll tell him you were looking." He turned to Mary Ann. "Hi, Mary Ann. What'cha making?"

Mary Ann gestured at the pile of completed and half completed decorations and all the paraphernalia strewn across the table, coloured ribbons trailing over the edges. "What do you think we're making, Gilligan?"

"A big mess?"

"No! We're making Christmas decorations!" Mary Ann held up a starfish tied with a red ribbon. "See?"

Gilligan took the starfish and held it up, twirling it round and round in front of his face. "Oh, yeah," he said, almost breathlessly. "Neat!"

"Every year we make Christmas decorations, and every year he asks us what we're doing," said Ginger. Both girls watched as Gilligan continued to twirl the starfish around and around and around, his eyes going back and forth, back and forth, a silly grin spread across his face. "If he keeps on doing that, he'll end up hypnotizing himself."

"I think he already has," said Mary Ann, hiding a giggle behind her hand.

Gilligan blinked and put the starfish down. "That was fun," he said, staggering slightly.

"Oh, Gilligan! Only you could have fun making yourself dizzy," laughed Ginger.

Mary Ann rested her chin in her hand and gazed up at him fondly. "You do cheer us up, Gilligan. Especially at a time like Christmas, when we miss our family and friends back home."

"I love Christmas," the first mate replied, riffling through all the ribbons and bows. "Always have, always will. No matter where I am."

"That's such a lovely way to think!" Mary Ann said, wanting to hug him right there and then.

Gilligan shrugged. "There's no point in being unhappy," he reasoned. "It doesn't make anybody else feel better, and who wants to feel bad at Christmas? Nobody, that's who." He picked up an angel made out of scraps of fabric, its delicate, pale blue chiffon wings held out on strips of wire. He turned it around and studied it from all angles. "This is pretty," he said. "My sister would like this."

"We're going to put it on top of the tree," Mary Ann said, watching him intently. "As soon as we find a tree, that is."

Gilligan seemed mesmerised by the angel. It took him a couple of moments to realise that Mary Ann was still talking, so taken was he by the delicate little face made of silk and the wispy hair made out of cotton wool. The angel looked back at him through tiny eyes made from the very smallest black beads that Mary Ann could find in her sewing box. Gilligan noticed that the left eye was just a smidgen higher than the right eye, making the angel look a little unsure of itself. For some reason he couldn't explain, that just made him like it all the more.

"Gilligan?"

"Huh?" Gilligan snapped back to reality at last. He shook his head and looked down at Mary Ann with a faraway expression.

"You were miles away," Mary Ann smiled.

"He's always miles away," said Ginger.

"I was looking at this," Gilligan said, putting the angel down on the table as carefully as he could. "It's pretty. My sister sure would like it."

"Well," said Mary Ann, "we'll keep it when Christmas is over, and maybe one day your sister can have it."

Gilligan broke into a huge smile. "Really? Oh, boy, Mary Ann. That would be wonderful! I just know she'd like it. In fact, she'd love it. She used to love things made out of all beads and stuff." He touched the angel's fragile cotton wool hair. "I mean- I guess she still does, I don't know. It's been so long since I saw her."

"In that case, we'll make sure we keep it safe," said Ginger, moved by the fleeting sadness in Gilligan's eyes.

"Thanks, Ginger." Gilligan smiled, looking down at the little angel.

There was a sudden shout from across the clearing, which startled all of them. "_Gilligaaaaaan!_"

Gilligan froze like a deer in the headlights. His eyes went wide. "Uh-oh, there's the foghorn. I mean, the Skipper. I'm meant to be collecting firewood before it gets dark." He flustered for a bit until the Skipper yelled again, and then he made a hurried dash for the door. "'Bye, girls!" he called, even though he was already out of the hut and running, nothing left but a cloud of sand in his wake.

A moment's amused silence passed, and then Ginger noticed that Mary Ann was still gazing towards the door with her chin in her hand, a dreamy look on her face.

"Penny for your thoughts," the movie star teased, gently.

"Hmm?" Mary Ann looked over. "Oh, nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Really!"

"I'd say it was a nothing wearing a red shirt and a sailor hat, about five foot nine, with dark hair and blue eyes." Ginger grinned at the colour creeping into Mary Ann's cheeks. "Getting warm in here, Mary Ann?"

Mary Ann blushed deeper. "Don't tease me, Ginger. Not at Christmas."

Ginger smiled even wider, the kind of Hollywood smile that had flashbulbs popping all over town. "I know what you need, and I'm surprised we didn't think of it before."

"Oh, Ginger!" Mary Ann huffed. "Stop being all mysterious! 'What I need'? What, precisely do I need?"

Ginger leaned forward over the table, displaying her ample cleavage. Her nose crinkled in delight as she lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. "Mistletoe."


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews so far! I plan on updating this story quickly, as Christmas is sooner than I realised. (_Much_ sooner than I realised- gulp!)_

_The 'pray tell' exchange between Skipper and Gilligan is borrowed from the Dusty's Trail episode 'Brookhaven USA'. Not the dialogue, just the 'pray tell' bit. _

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><p><span>Chapter Two<span>

Gilligan traipsed through the jungle collecting bits of wood. He thought about his sister, and the way she used to stare at the Christmas tree, as mesmerised by the twinkling lights as he was by Mary Ann's fabric angel. Before he knew it, he was lost in memories of childhood Christmases, of running through the snow with Skinny Mulligan, so eager to play outside that he forgot to put his coat on first. And then later, shivering by the fire, drinking hot chocolate to warm him up from the inside out while the last remnants of snowflakes in his hair turned to water, trickling down his neck and into his collar as he bent over his steaming mug.

_William dear, you'll catch a deathly chill one of these days,_ his mother always said. But he never did.

Gilligan examined the wood as he piled it into his cart. Some of it was hard and gnarly, but some of it was soft enough for whittling. He decided to save some and see if he couldn't whittle some of it into shapes for the girls to decorate.

He headed back to camp, bumping the little cart over the stony ground. He wondered if it was snowing back home.

The Skipper was waiting for him when he arrived at the Supply Hut. "Well! Nice to see you at last, Gilligan. Do you know how long I've been waiting for that wood?"

Gilligan shrugged. "No."

"A long time!" the Skipper said, brusquely.

"Why?" Gilligan countered. "There's plenty of wood lying around. Look, there's some right there!"

"Gilligan, that's a chair."

Gilligan pouted, bumping the cart against the door frame as he brought it into the hut.

The Skipper heard him muttering under his breath, but ignored it. "Gilligan, I'm not mad at you. But when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed. We still need to maintain our routine, even at Christmas!"

"Boy, you sure are a Stooge!" Gilligan declared suddenly.

The Skipper blinked. "A what?"

"A Stooge. A guy who hates Christmas."

"Gilligan," the Skipper grinned, "I think you mean I'm a 'Scrooge'."

"Yeah! You sure are a Scrooge," Gilligan agreed, nodding vigorously.

The Skipper deflated with a loud sigh. "I'm sorry, Gilligan. I'm not a Scrooge. In fact, I love Christmas! It's just that when I ask you to do something, I'd like you to do it. It's how it was in the Navy, remember, little buddy?"

"But Skipper, we're not _in_ the Navy any more. We're not even on a boat any more. And it's Christmas. Can't I stop doing chores for once?"

The Skipper went over to Gilligan and put his big, beefy arm around the young man's slim shoulders. Gilligan smiled up at him, hopefully. "No." the Skipper said in his sweetest voice. "You can_ not_ stop doing chores. But I can stop yelling at you for taking so long. As it's Christmas." His blue eyes twinkled down at the first mate, who sighed and accepted defeat.

"I guess it's better than nothing," Gilligan conceded. He slipped out from under the Skipper's arm and began unloading the wood.

"What took you so long, anyway?" the Skipper asked.

"Oh, I stopped by to see the girls," Gilligan said, arranging the wood into a neat pile in the corner of the hut.

"There's a surprise!" the Skipper said, drily. "And why, pray tell, did you stop by to see the girls?"

"Because, pray tell, I wanted to see what they were doing. I saw them carrying a big box full of junk into their hut, pray tell." Gilligan stood up and dusted off his pants. "They're making decorations. Real neat ones, too. All tied up with ribbons and bows. And Mary Ann made this cute little angel with wings and eyes like this." He crossed his eyes and stared inwards at his nose.

"A cross-eyed angel?" The Skipper was dumbfounded.

Gilligan grinned widely. "They're gonna put it on the tree."

"I'm not sure I want a cross-eyed angel staring down at me from a tree," the Skipper muttered.

"It's real cute though, Skipper. You'll see. And Ginger was making stuff to hang from the tree. It was funny, because she had these little bits of glitter sticking to her and sometimes she sparkled, and she didn't even know it."

The Skipper suddenly found himself thinking of Ginger, sparkling. Before long he was imagining her like the fairy on the tree, only her eyes were perfect. And then she wasn't on the tree, she was floating in the air. She glowed like the sun, her face serene and beautiful. Huge, white, feathery wings sprouted from her slender shoulderblades and unfurled towards him. Beckoning.

"Oh, yeah," Gilligan said, suddenly remembering something. "I was going to whittle some wood for the girls!" He returned to the corner, saw the chunk of wood he wanted lying at the bottom of the pile and pulled it out. The resulting crash and clatter of wood falling over itself snapped the Skipper out of his reverie, just as he was about to kiss Ginger in her divine angel form. With a puff of delicate smoke, the vision was gone and he was left staring in frustration at the hut wall where a small spider scuttled back and forth, happily spinning its web.

"Gilligan! _Why _do you always have to...!"

"Skipper!" Gilligan immediately put his finger to his lips. "Ssh! No yelling, remember? It's Christmas!"

"I'll give you Christmas," the Skipper growled, and promptly smacked Gilligan on the head with his cap.

In the middle of their little exchange, they heard tinkling laughter and muted giggling coming from the direction of the girls' hut. The Skipper stopped scowling at Gilligan and drifted over to the open window. "Listen to that," he sighed, dreamily. "The sound of women's laughter. Isn't it like music to your ears?"

Gilligan pulled a face. "If that's music, I wish my ears had an 'off' button. I prefer The Mosquitoes."

"Gilligan, name me one good thing about The Mosquitoes."

Gilligan pouted. "They're not girls!"

The Skipper shook his head, fondly. "Little buddy, one day you'll wake up and realise that girls are the most beautiful creatures on earth. And one day you'll wish you'd realised it sooner."

"Never," said Gilligan, forcefully. "I'm gonna be a bachelor for the rest of my life!"

"But look at the Howells, Gilligan. Happily married for over twenty years!"

There came the sound of Mrs. Howell's voice carried on the evening breeze. She was sharply reprimanding Mr. Howell for something. And then there came the sound of Mr. Howell pleading, _but Lovey, darling! Please listen to me! It was an accident! I didn't know it belonged to your mother!_

"Happily married, huh?" said Gilligan, eyeing the Skipper suspiciously.

"Well," said the Skipper, tapping his fingers together sheepishly, "most of the time."

Gilligan shrugged his shoulders. He stared at the lump of wood in his hands. "I guess I'll go get started on my whittling. It'll be nice to make something useful instead of doing rotten old chores, for once."

The Skipper ignored the pointed comment. He'd suddenly had a flash of inspiration. "Gilligan, I think I have the perfect solution! For the Howells. To make them feel young again this Christmas. Oh, boy- the more I think about it, the more I know it'll really cheer them up!" _And me too,_ he added in his thoughts, picturing Ginger standing in a moonlit clearing, her arms outstretched towards him while tiki torches turned her pale skin to a delicate amber and cast a fiery halo around her hair. _Yes! This will be the perfect thing to cheer up an old sea dog like me at Christmas!_

"Yeah?" Gilligan was more than a little interested. He loved it when the Skipper included him in his little schemes.

"Gilligan, put down your wood. There's something I'd like you to make for me."

Gilligan put down the wood. "You want me to make something?" He stood in front of the Skipper, his blue eyes wide with anticipation, hands clasped together, fingers firmly interlocked. "What is it, Skipper? What do you want me to make?"

The Skipper smiled and gave Gilligan a secretive wink. "Gilligan, I want you to make me some mistletoe."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Well, Ginger, what do you think?" Mary Ann held up the sprig of mistletoe she had made out of dried seaweed tied with a small red satin bow. A few pearls from an old necklace of Mrs. Howell's nestled in the middle of the sprig to represent the little white berries. "It doesn't look much like mistletoe, does it?"

"It's perfect," Ginger smiled. "You're really very creative, Mary Ann!"

Mary Ann smiled back, examining the sprig with a critical eye. "It would be nice to have the real thing," she said, wistfully. "This still smells a bit- well, seaweedy."

Ginger reached across the table and patted her arm. "As long as it has the desired effect, you'll be fine."

The door flew open suddenly and Mrs. Howell entered the hut all a-fluster. "That man!" she exclaimed, throwing up her arms in despair. "The next time he wants to jump off the cliff I think I'll give him a big push to get him started!"

Ginger and Mary Ann exchanged a knowing smile before setting their faces into dutiful looks of concern as Mrs. Howell flounced over and parked herself at the table. "What on earth is that thing?" she remarked, spying the object Mary Ann was holding up.

"It's mistletoe," Mary Ann said. "Or at least, it's meant to be."

Mrs. Howell brightened immediately, clasping her hands together under her chin. A girlish gleam came into her eyes. "Mistletoe! How wonderful! Oh, how I used to adore kissing under the mistletoe at parties. It used to make Thurston quite, quite jealous!"

"Mrs. Howell!" said Ginger, tut-tutting. "Shame on you!"

"I know! Wasn't I naughty?" said Mrs. Howell, wrinkling her nose in exact imitation of Ginger. "Oh, what a clever idea. This is just what we need this Christmas. It's high time you young people started getting closer!" She turned to Mary Ann. "Why- three years we've been here, and that young Gilligan still can't see what's right under his nose!"

"Mrs. Howell!" said Mary Ann, going bright red.

Just as Ginger began to laugh, Mrs. Howell turned to her as well. "And the Professor, my goodness, the way he walks around all day reading those silly books while a beautiful Hollywood actress stands right there in front of him. It's scandalous!"

Ginger lowered her head and coughed politely.

"Yes, there's simply no doubt about it. You girls have the right idea- mistletoe is exactly what we need this Christmas." Mrs. Howell got up from the table and departed the hut in a swirl of chiffon. "_Exactly _what we need!"

In the boys' hut, Gilligan was hunched over, hard at work. His tongue poked out from between his lips as he fumbled vine leaves onto a small stick and tried to fix it all together with fishing twine. "Skipper, tell me again why we need mistletoe?" He frowned as yet another attempt went wrong. Bits of vine fell off the stick and scattered all over the floor.

The Skipper stood with his arms folded, shaking his head. "Gilligan, surely even _you_ know what mistletoe is for. You hang it, and then you kiss under it!"

"Oh yeah, I remember now. Skinny Mulligan once stood under some mistletoe all night with Florence Oppenheimer and nobody else could get a turn."

"Gilligan," the Skipper sighed, "you have enough Skinny Mulligan stories to write a book."

Gilligan grinned. He cut off a strip of vine and started again, looping the fishing twine around and around the stick until there was more nylon than greenery. "How's that?" he asked, holding it up.

"Disastrous," the Skipper muttered. "The only person you'd get a kiss from with a sprig like that is Gladys."

"No way, I'm not kissing anybody," Gilligan said, assertively.

"Now what kind of festive spirit is that, little buddy?" the Skipper teased. "What's wrong with kissing someone at Christmas to show that you appreciate their friendship?" He thought of Ginger. _And boy, do I appreciate her friendship!_

Gilligan shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I could do it to show friendship," he conceded. "Not on the lips, though!"

The Skipper chuckled. "Not even for Mary Ann?"

Gilligan said nothing, just ducked his head lower and lower until all the Skipper could see of him was the little button on the top of his hat.

"Hey," the Skipper said suddenly. "It'll be getting dark very soon. I wonder what happened to the Professor?"

"He went out looking for a tree," Gilligan mumbled.

"And there he is now!" Skipper pointed out of the window. "It looks like he found one!"

Gilligan followed the Skipper out into the clearing where the man of science was struggling with a large, bushy shrub he had dug up and dragged all the way home. The Skipper ran over immediately. "Professor! You shouldn't have done all that by yourself! Why, if I'd known you were having trouble I'd have sent Gilligan out to help you right away!"

Gilligan stared at the Skipper and pouted indignantly.

"It's quite all right, gentlemen," the Professor smiled, wiping the sheen of perspiration from his brow. "It was a combination of seeing the right tree and not wanting to lose its location. Besides, it's really not as heavy as it looks."

Gilligan studied the Professor's sweat soaked shirt and listened to him panting for breath. He reached for the shrub and the weight of it nearly pulled him over. "It really _is_ as heavy as it looks," he gasped, his knees buckling.

Between the three of them, the Skipper, the Professor and Gilligan manhandled the shrub into a suitable location in the clearing where they planted it, ready for decorating. They stood back and admired their handiwork. The Professor leaned on his shovel. He looked exhausted but happy. "It makes a mighty fine Christmas tree, if I do say so myself."

"It sure does," breathed Gilligan. "Mary Ann's angel is gonna look so pretty on the top!"

"Ah yes, the decorations," said the Professor. "How are they coming along?"

"Great," said Gilligan. "And guess what? We're making mistletoe!"

The Skipper put his face in his hands. "Gilligan, that was meant to be a secret!"

"It was?" the first mate looked startled.

The Professor grinned. "Don't worry, Gilligan, I can keep a secret." He stroked his chin in an exaggerated manner. "Mistletoe. Hmm. Whose idea was that, may I ask?"

Gilligan shot his arm out and pointed straight at the Skipper.

"Anyone in mind, Skipper?" the Professor asked, innocently raising his eyebrows.

"As a matter of fact, the Howells," the Skipper said, primly. "We heard them quarrelling, didn't we, Gilligan? I thought it would be nice to bring them together under the mistletoe and remind them of happier times."

Gilligan nodded up and down.

"I see," the Professor mused. "Anyone else?"

"No," said the Skipper, unconvincingly.

Gilligan shook his head side to side.

"Ginger?"

The Skipper spluttered, going beetroot.

"Mary Ann?"

Gilligan looked away as though he'd seen something interesting in the distance.

"Just the Howells, then."

"That's right," said the Skipper. "Just the Howells." He caught the Professor's eye and the two of them began laughing as though they were both thinking the same thing while Gilligan stared up at the tree and imagined Mary Ann's cross-eyed angel gazing down at him from the top.

The other castaways loved the tree. At dinner the conversation consisted of nothing but Christmas trees and favourite baubles they remembered from years gone by. Red and white striped candy canes and chocolate soldiers wrapped in tin foil. Huge green bows decorated with golden glitter. Fluffy sheep and tacky plastic candles, and little stables made of wood with a cradle and a tiny baby Jesus. Tinkling bells and laughing elves. Baubles that eventually became chipped and broken but were too precious and loved to be thrown away. Gilligan told a story of how he and his brother would eat the chocolate decorations from the tree, gradually working around to the front when they'd taken all the ones at the back. How one Christmas his sister cried because the chocolate kitty-cat was gone, and how his mother had eventually found three years' worth of little coloured tinfoil balls stashed behind the fireplace and had counted all the edible baubles from then on to make sure none of them went missing.

The moment dinner was finished and the plates cleared away, the girls brought out all the ornaments they'd made and the decorating began in earnest. Everyone hung something on the tree, even Mr. Howell, who rushed back to his hut to fetch a stack of hundred dollar bills. "Who says money doesn't grow on trees?" he guffawed, dancing around like a naughty imp as the banknotes twirled and fluttered from every branch.

"The angel, Mary Ann, where's the angel?" cried Gilligan, clapping his hands together.

Laughing, Mary Ann reached into the box and handed him the angel. "Perhaps we should have put it on before the tree was planted," she mused. "How are you going to get up there now?"

"Watch this," Gilligan grinned. He turned and hollered at the Skipper. "Skipper! Can you give me a lift?"

The Skipper came over with a big, beaming smile. "For you, little buddy, anything!" He stooped down, wrapped his huge arms tightly around Gilligan's legs and hoisted him high up into the air, high enough for him to reach the top of the tree.

"Well, little angel, this is your new home- I sure hope you like it." Gilligan stroked the angel's hair and gave it a quick little kiss on its silken face when he thought nobody could see. "For luck," he said, softly, looking into its tiny lopsided eyes. He smoothed out its delicate chiffon wings and then he reached out and placed it carefully on the top of the tree, his hands shaking in case he accidentally fell forward and knocked the whole thing over.

He was still gazing raptly at the angel as the Skipper brought him back down to earth. Everyone clapped their hands and cheered, declaring that the cross-eyed angel was quite the best decoration they'd ever seen.

"Wait until they see the other surprise we've got in store for them tomorrow," Ginger whispered, nudging Mary Ann in the ribs.

Mary Ann looked up at the angel and then at Gilligan. The Skipper was laughing and patting him on the back, congratulating him for not wrecking the tree. The first mate smiled bashfully, his cute dimples accentuated by the glow of the surrounding tiki torches. He looked so happy, his blue eyes shining in the light.

He looked angelic.

Mary Ann's heart pulled with longing. If mistletoe was what it took to get Gilligan to finally notice her, then she was more than ready to hang the mistletoe right now.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The next morning Mary Ann was up bright and early. Ginger, wrapped in her orange blanket in the other bed, yawned daintily behind her hand. "Where's the fire?" she mumbled, groggily.

"No fire," Mary Ann chirped. "I'm going to hang the mistletoe. As a surprise, before everyone else wakes up." She fastened her shorts and selected her pretty gingham blouse, the one that tied at the front.

Ginger yawned again, then smiled. "They say the early bird catches the worm. Or in this case, the sailor."

"Ginger!" Mary Ann laughed. "Don't forget whose idea this was in the first place. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think this wasn't just about Gilligan and me." She finished dressing and brushed her hair into pigtails. "After all, he's not the only single man on the island who wouldn't know a romantic gesture if it fell out of a passing airplane and landed on his head."

Ginger squirmed inside her orange cocoon like a giant red-haired butterfly. "You're right, Mary Ann." She imagined the Professor's handsome face as he stood waiting for one of her kisses. "I do have a hidden agenda."

Mary Ann picked up the mistletoe. She went over to Ginger's bed and tugged on the movie star's big toe. "Not so hidden," she giggled. "Come on- come and help me hang it."

In the boys' hut, the Skipper was trying to shake Gilligan awake. It annoyed him how the boy slept lightly until you wanted him to get up and then he became as immobile as a dead tree trunk. "Gilligan! Gilligan! Wake up!"

"Go'way," Gilligan mumbled, swatting irritably at the Skipper's hands.

"Gilligan! Wake up. That's an order! I want to hang the mistletoe."

Gilligan opened one bleary eye and peered at the Skipper in disbelief. "_Now?_" he whined. "Why now?"

"Because I want it to be a surprise!" the Skipper explained, hanging on to the last vestiges of his patience.

Gilligan screwed up his face. "Skipper, it's too early to start kissing. Besides, if no-one's awake then there's no-one to kiss except me, and I'm sure not gonna kiss you."

"My poor heart is broken," the Skipper lamented. "Now come on, get up, or I'll tip you out!"

With a groan of protest, Gilligan half climbed, half fell out of his hammock and staggered over to the table to collect the best of the many attempts at mistletoe he'd spent all night constructing.

Ginger clutched her orange blanket tightly around herself. She tottered out of the hut behind Mary Ann, blinking in the early dawn light.

"There's an overhanging branch in the clearing near the tree," Mary Ann said softly. "I saw it last night. If we hang it there, no-one will miss it!"

"Mary Ann, I'll make sure no-one misses it, even if I have to light it up and point a big red arrow at it," Ginger said, wryly.

The Skipper pushed Gilligan out of the hut, ignoring the young man's petulant muttering. "Come on, Gilligan, there's an overhanging branch by the tree. If we hang the mistletoe there, no-one will miss it!"

"Then can I go back to bed?" Gilligan sulked.

"Then you can dance the Watusi through the jungle on your hands, for all I care." The Skipper suddenly stopped dead. He tugged on Gilligan's sleeve, pulling the first mate backwards. "What the-?" he blustered. "Look over there! It's the girls! What are they doing up?"

On the other side of the clearing, Mary Ann and Ginger stopped dead in their tracks.

"Look! It's the Skipper and Gilligan!" Ginger frowned. "What are they doing up?"

The four castaways approached each other cautiously, wearing identical looks of confusion. "Good morning, girls," the Skipper said as cheerfully as he could. "Not to be rude or anything, but may I ask why you're up so early?" He tried to ignore the sight of Ginger wearing just her blanket. Her bare, creamy shoulders were enough to turn him into an awkward schoolboy at the best of times. He was thankful for the Navy training that allowed him to remain stoic.

"Not to be rude, Skipper, but may we ask you the same question?" Ginger smiled, aware of the effect she was having on the Skipper.

"I believe we asked you first, Ginger." The Skipper resolutely stood his ground.

Gilligan's eyes were fully open now. He had spotted the small sprig of seaweed and ribbon that Mary Ann clutched tightly in her hand. "What's that, Mary Ann?" he asked, curiously.

"Mistletoe," Mary Ann replied, then pointed at his untidy collection of vine leaves and nylon wire. "What's that?"

"Mistletoe." Gilligan peered at his effort and then at hers. "Yours is much prettier."

"It's just seaweed," Mary Ann said, apologetically. "And some ribbon. And a few old pearls. Nothing special."

"It's nice. It looks like mistletoe. Well, more than mine does. I'm sure you'll get lots of kisses."

Mary Ann looked at his face. He was tired, but smiling. Had he said that just to be polite? "I'm sure you will, too," she said, looking down at his untidy collection of mismatched leaves and knotted twine.

"Mine's stupid," he remarked, as a leaf fell off it and twirled lazily to the ground.

"It's beautiful," she replied, and then, feeling suddenly courageous, she leaned up and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Look- it's already working."

Gilligan's face reddened. He looked up to find the Skipper and Ginger staring at him.

"Too early to start kissing, huh, little buddy?" The Skipper chortled and slapped Gilligan heartily on the back. With the ice broken, all four castaways laughed, eager to avoid further embarrassment, until a commotion from the nearby Howells' residence made them stop. "Don't tell me the Howells are awake too!" The Skipper groaned.

"Yoo-hoo! I hope you haven't started without me!" Mrs. Howell ran across the clearing in a sort of elegant half-trot, flapping her hands in the air. "Come along, Thurston, do hurry!"

Mr. Howell looked even more asleep than Gilligan. Muttering a string of unintelligible oaths, he lurched to an abrupt halt behind his wife. He was still wearing his pajamas and his hair stuck up at angles. His beloved Teddy nestled in the crook of one elbow and in his other hand he held a basket. The basket was filled to the brim with a scrappy assortment of jungle vegetation tied into bunches with coloured ribbon and string.

"What have you got there, Mrs. Howell?" the Skipper asked, pointing at the basket.

"Why, Captain, can't you tell?" Mrs. Howell clapped her hands and jumped up and down with glee. "It's mistletoe! Thurston and I had a wonderful time making it, didn't we, Thurston?"

"Anngh eerughh ooergh," Mr. Howell mumbled with a grimace that said the time had been anything but wonderful.

"Mistletoe?" cried the Skipper in dismay, his jaw dropping.

"Mistletoe?" cried Ginger, clutching at the folds of her blanket.

"Mistletoe?" said Mary Ann and Gilligan, in unison.

The door to the Supply Hut opened and the Professor sauntered over to see what all the fuss was about. "Did I hear someone say 'mistletoe'?" he remarked, looking at each of them in turn.

The castaways shuffled from foot to foot as though they had been caught doing something naughty. The Professor spotted Mary Ann's sprig of seaweed and then he noticed the Howells' basket. He folded his arms across his chest and his blue eyes filled with amusement. "Well, Skipper, so much for being the only one with the idea- it appears we now have an abundance of the stuff. I hope everyone is fully aware that according to ancient Christmas custom, a man and a woman who meet under _any_ hanging of mistletoe are obliged to kiss." He smiled and waited for the inevitable question.

"What does 'obliged' mean?" asked Gilligan.

"It means you have to." The Professor lowered his voice to make himself sound more serious.

Gilligan panicked. "But if it isn't real mistletoe, then I don't have to give real kisses!"

"Gilligan! You mustn't be a spoilsport!" cried Mrs. Howell, feigning great disappointment. "Why, it's simply magical to kiss someone special under mistletoe, real or not! Isn't that right, Thurston?"

Mr. Howell had fallen asleep on his feet, snoring gently through his open mouth with Teddy snuggled tightly against his chest. Meanwhile the basket dangled loosely from his fingers, threatening to spill all of its contents onto the sand.

"He's probably dreaming about it right now," Mrs. Howell asserted.

Gilligan found himself torn between real worry and confusion. He didn't want to be a spoilsport, but how was he going to avoid kissing if there was 'mistletoe' hanging everywhere? The thought of Ginger advancing on him with her lips puckered sent shivers up his spine for all the wrong reasons. Until his eyes fell on Mary Ann, smiling shyly at him from under her eyelashes, twirling her little sprig of seaweed. There was something about the way she looked, the way her skin glowed as the sun began to rise, that made him feel suddenly calm. Behind her, on top of the beautifully decorated tree, the little cross-eyed angel gazed down at him as though waiting for him to speak.

"Well, I guess if it's tradition," he said, hesitantly.

The Skipper folded his arm around Gilligan's shoulders. "Gilligan, little buddy, there are times in life when you've just got to take it like a man. And this is one of them."

"Okay." Gilligan shrugged. "I guess I can take it like a man, even if I feel like a chicken."

"Good boy, Gilligan!" laughed Ginger, clapping her hands together. "It'll be so much fun! You won't regret it!"

Gilligan watched Ginger's generous curves bouncing up and down inside her orange blanket. He wondered how many times he would have to kiss her and why exactly she scared him so much. _I will regret it,_ he thought. Then he looked over and caught another shy smile from Mary Ann. Their eyes met and held, and all the confusion in his head seemed to melt away, seeping into his collar like snowflakes in front of the fire. _But then again,_ _maybe I won't. _

"And now that we're all finally agreed," the Professor smiled, breaking into Gilligan's reverie, "What say we get this mistletoe hung?"

With a chorus of hoorays, the castaways scattered across the clearing and the hanging began in earnest.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:** Thanks JWood201 for all the email sessions and fantastic reviews which have kept me going, and Lilly, LucyFox835 and Maudlin Mush, and everyone else who's keeping up with this story in this hectic Christmas week. It looks like there'll be nine chapters in all, and I promise speedy updates._

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><p><span>Chapter Five<span>

Mrs. Howell immediately set to work. With her sleepy husband in tow she tied a sprig on every bush, every tree, and in every single hut doorway. Everywhere the castaways looked, ribbons fluttered gaily in the breeze- blue ribbons, pink ribbons, yellow, red and green ribbons; satin bows, silk threads and strips of patterned fabric. Somehow, in the depths of the night, Mrs. Howell had come up with the paraphernalia to make enough mistletoe for a small country. She dashed from tree to tree, from hut to hut, encouraging Mr. Howell to 'get into the spirit' and hang as much mistletoe as he could. Mr. Howell, still in his pajamas, mumbled and muttered, but goodnaturedly went along with her.

Mary Ann looked up at the overhanging branch. It was too high for her to reach. She looked around for Ginger. The movie star had changed into her most slinky gown and was making goo-goo eyes at the Professor, rolling one bare shoulder at him as she posed beneath a fluttering ribbon. _Well, that didn't take long,_ she thought to herself, then jumped, startled, as someone coughed behind her.

It was Gilligan. Clutching what now looked like a half-naked twig with about seven leaves still attached to it. "Do you want some help?" he asked, shyly.

Mary Ann nodded gratefully. Gilligan reached up and grabbed the branch, pulling it down so that she could attach her little sprig of seaweed. Then she held the branch so that he could attach his. When she let go of the branch it bounced up and three more leaves fell off Gilligan's sprig. He watched sadly as they twirled to the ground. "You can't even tell what mine is any more," he sighed.

"I can," said Mary Ann, and leaned up to give him another kiss on the cheek. "See?"

Gilligan squirmed, hunching his shoulders. A bashful grin spread across his face. Mary Ann pointed upwards. "Now it's your turn," she said.

Gilligan's eyes darted nervously. He leaned down and delivered a quick, fleeting peck to the side of Mary Ann's face. It gave Mary Ann butterflies to feel him close to her for those few precious seconds. The smell of his hair tonic lingered in her nostrils as he stood back. She wanted to reach out and put her arms around him, but she didn't.

It wasn't long before the campsite was festooned with sprigs and Ginger seemed to be under every one of them. For Gilligan, it was like an assault course just getting from A to B. He ducked around corners and hid behind trees, at one point he even crawled under the table when he saw the movie star waltz by. The safest place was right in the center of the clearing where there was no mistletoe, just the blue sky above him. But he couldn't stay out there forever, even if he wanted to.

The Skipper had no such qualms. He spied Ginger lingering in the doorway to the Supply Hut and ambled over. "Hello, Ginger, if you don't mind, I just need to get something from..." he glanced up and pulled an expression of surprise. "Why, what have we here?" As though mistletoe dangling from the doorframe was the last thing he expected to see.

Ginger laughed and wrapped her arms fondly around his neck. "Have you been a good boy this year?" she teased.

"I've been a very good boy," he simpered. "Even when Gilligan's been driving me insane."

"Then here's your reward," Ginger cooed, and kissed him full on the lips.

The sound of bells exploded in Skipper's head. He staggered away, reeling from side to side as though he were on the deck of a boat, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other. Ginger laughed, knowing it wouldn't be long before he came back for more.

Mary Ann noticed the Skipper wandering around in a daze. "I think I can guess what happened," she giggled.

"I was ambushed," he replied, grinning idiotically. Then he looked up and found they were standing under yet another sprig of mistletoe.

"Then prepare to be ambushed again!" Mary Ann threw her arms as far around him as she could and pulled him down for another kiss on the lips.

The Skipper reeled backwards, punch-drunk. "Two strikes in one day!" he declared happily.

"And we haven't even had breakfast!" Mary Ann laughed.

"Look, Thurston," Mrs. Howell cried, delighted to see the kissing had already begun.

"Very good dear," her husband drawled, patting his wife on the shoulder. "I'm going back to the hut to slip into something more comfortable."

"Wonderful idea, darling." Mrs. Howell plucked at the sleeve of his pajamas. "After all, you're not exactly dressed for kissing."

"I meant something more comfortable, like my bed!" Mr. Howell declared, mooching off towards the huts.

Gilligan had somehow managed to traverse the clearing without encountering Ginger and was hiding in his hut. With his comic books and his bubblegum cards to keep him occupied, he figured he could happily spend the whole of Christmas there. He would only come out to take a shower and eat. He stared mournfully at the fluttering ribbon hanging from the door and resolved that even when he had to leave, he would climb in and out through the window.

Looking out across the campsite, he saw Mary Ann and the Professor under a sprig of mistletoe. The Professor said something and Mary Ann laughed. The Professor put his hands on Mary Ann's shoulders, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Mary Ann laughed again and then she kissed the Professor on the cheek.

Gilligan's stomach did a strange flip. He turned away from the window and climbed into his hammock, folding his arms tightly over his chest to try and stop the fluttery feeling. He knew that by avoiding Ginger he was also avoiding Mary Ann, but he didn't know what else to do.

Ginger sashayed across the clearing. "Mary Ann, tsk tsk tsk," she said, smokily. "Surely you don't intend to keep him all to yourself?"

Mary Ann stepped back. "He's all yours," she giggled as Ginger slid her arms around the Professor's neck and turned him towards her.

"Pucker up, Professor," Ginger murmured.

"But, Ginger- kissing on the mouth leads to-"

"I know. 'All sorts of bacterial transfer'. Well, you don't have to worry about that, Professor. My bacteria are very..." Ginger leaned closer, "...very..." her lips were practically on his, "...friendly." And then she was kissing him fully, her arms around his neck and her body pressed so close against his that he had no choice but to put his arms around her and hold her.

The Skipper, Mary Ann and Mrs. Howell watched the smooch go on and on and on. "Do you think he really did used to be a scuba diver?" the Skipper wondered aloud.

"I don't know,"Mrs. Howell replied, fingering her pearls, "but if I ever need mouth-to-mouth rescuscitation, I certainly know who to look for!"

The Skipper did a double-take. "Mrs. Howell!"

"Well." Mrs. Howell smacked him lightly on the arm. "I was young once too, you know!"

The Skipper laughed. "Mrs. Howell, if you weren't a married woman, I'd kiss you myself!"

"You heard what the Professor said," Mrs. Howell said mischievously, "a man and a woman who meet under a hanging of mistletoe are obliged to kiss. It doesn't say anything about being married!"

"In that case," the Skipper chuckled, "step this way if you would, Mrs. Howell!" And he led her over to some mistletoe and gallantly kissed her on the back of her hand.

As if by magic Mr. Howell appeared, fully dressed and wearing his straw boater. "Do you mind?" he said, tapping the Skipper on the shoulder. "Put down my wife, you briny old sea snake! Unless you want to feel the wrath of a Howell!"

The Skipper stepped away, tipping his hat, playing along. "My apologies, sir," he grinned.

"I should think so, too." Mr. Howell took his wife lovingly in his arms. "What have I told you about those rough sailor types?" he said, nuzzling their noses together. "Yale men, all of them!"

"Oh, Thurston, I knew you'd come to my rescue!" Mrs. Howell cried, and kissed her husband passionately.

The castaways stopped kissing long enough to make breakfast. Gilligan climbed through the hut window, drawn by the smell of hot pancakes. Everyone teased him when he sat down, asking him where he'd been. He shrugged, filling his plate with pancakes, hoping that if he kept his mouth full he wouldn't have to talk, let alone kiss.

"Cheer up, Gilligan." Ginger tickled his back with the tips of her nails. "If I kiss you I promise not to bite."

"I can vouch for that," said the Professor, causing much muffled laughter around the table.

"I'm not scared of kissing," Gilligan said, feigning nonchalance. "I just don't want to do it, that's all." He carried on stuffing pancake into his mouth, trying to ignore the scratching of Ginger's fingernails along his spine.

"I can change your mind," Ginger breathed, leaning closer.

"I can vouch for that, too," the Professor announced, raising his cup of mango juice.

Gilligan chewed his pancake into a mushy pulp and then turned to Ginger. "Wanna kiss me now?" he mumbled through the squidgy mess.

"Gilligan!" Ginger recoiled in disgust. She removed her hand from his back and smacked him on the arm. "Don't worry, I'll get you later."

"No you won't," Gilligan replied, slurping mango juice.

After breakfast, Gilligan disappeared again. Saddened by his absence, Mary Ann searched high and low, peering into every hut and even the shower stall. Perhaps he had gone off to do chores. She checked the laundry area- he wasn't there. She checked the vegetable garden- he wasn't there, either. Nor was he at the water pump. She went down to the lagoon- there was no sign of him. There was no sign of him anywhere. With a disappointed sigh she trudged home along the path, wishing that no-one had ever heard of mistletoe.

When she was halfway home, a sudden rustling noise came from somewhere off to her left. She pricked her ears, listening for animals. There was a crackle of twigs, and then-

"Psst! Psst, Mary Ann!"

Mary Ann turned. Gilligan was about ten yards away, hiding in the jungle and peering out at her from behind a clump of bushes. Without thinking, she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Gilligan! I've been looking all over for you! What are you doing?"

"I'm running away!" he replied with a grin. "From Ginger!"

"Running away?"

"Yeah. So I don't have to kiss her. Wanna come?"

"That's silly!" Mary Ann found herself saying.

"No it isn't. Come on, Mary Ann. It'll be fun. We can look for butterflies."

Mary Ann stared at him. He looked a sight, crouched down like a renegade soldier caught behind enemy lines. Waving her over with his skinny red-shirted arm. For a moment she was torn. She knew that if she didn't join him he'd go anyway, and probably be gone for hours. Meanwhile, Ginger would still be drifting around the campsite, kissing the Skipper and the Professor, not even minding that Gilligan wasn't there.

Mary Ann bit the inside of her lip, but it didn't take her long to decide. Feeling like a naughty child skipping school, she launched herself into the jungle and ran through the bushes towards Gilligan's outstretched hand.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Gilligan ran and ran, dragging Mary Ann behind him, her little hand clutched tightly in his. She laughed with a mixture of happiness and trepidation, not knowing where they were going. Leaves and twigs snapped underfoot as they headed down paths that Mary Ann didn't even know existed. All she knew was that she was running away with the boy who had been the center of her dreams for three years, and it felt exhilarating.

Finally they came to a clearing and Gilligan stopped running. Mary Ann didn't stop in time and bumped into him, breathless and laughing. "Where are we?" she asked, clutching his arm to steady herself.

"Beats me," Gilligan said. "It's pretty though, isn't it?"

Mary Ann looked around. It was pretty. There were tropical flowers everywhere, growing wild and untamed. Heliconias and ginger lilies and a myriad of hibiscus in red, orange, yellow and pink. The sun shone through the canopy and danced on the ground, and high in the trees a songbird trilled and warbled. "It's like we're the only two people on earth," Mary Ann whispered.

"Sometimes I wish we were," Gilligan said, then clamped his mouth shut, too late.

Mary Ann shuffled her feet and looked at the ground.

"I mean, you know, it would be quieter," Gilligan mumbled.

They began walking along the path. Mary Ann wanted to hold his hand. She let her hand 'accidentally' brush his as they walked, but he made no move to reclaim it. "Are you really running to escape Ginger?" she asked, looking up at his profile.

"Kind of. Ginger only kisses me when she wants something, but now it's like she's on a mission."

"I'm sorry," Mary Ann said, softly. "If I'd known the mistletoe would upset you, I would never have made it."

"I'm not upset," he replied. "It's just that, well- there's so _much_ of it."

Mary Ann smiled. "Mrs. Howell got a little overexcited. She only wants people to be happy."

"And Skipper wanted the Howells to be happy, after we heard them arguing. That's why he wanted the mistletoe."

They walked on in silence, listening to the bird trilling. The warmth of the sun blanketed them as they walked out of the shade and found themselves on the path that led to the cliff. And then Gilligan asked the inevitable question, the question she'd hoped he wouldn't ask.

"What about you, Mary Ann? Why did you want mistletoe?"

Mary Ann kicked a pebble. It clattered away in front of them and bounced into a bush. "It was Ginger's idea, really." She heard the defensive tone in her voice and pretended to look for the pebble.

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "Well, that figures. Ginger's the one getting the most out of it."

Mary Ann didn't know what else to say to him. She wanted to tell him that he was the original inspiration for the mistletoe but she was too shy. She thought it might frighten him. Instead, she moved closer and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, as if they were taking a stroll along the promenade.

When they got to the cliff, they stood and watched the waves crashing on the rocks below. In the distance, the horizon sparkled in the bright December sunshine. Gilligan seemed thoughtful. He wasn't his usual talkative self, and Mary Ann grew worried. "Penny for your thoughts?" she smiled, giving him a gentle nudge.

"I was thinking about home. I was wondering if there was snow."

It was hard to think of something like snow when the sun was beating down on you like a hammer, but Mary Ann closed her eyes and imagined a blanket of snow and a leaden grey sky, and for a moment the thought was so vivid that she shivered.

"My grandmother would always come for Christmas dinner," Gilligan went on. "She sat at the head of the table, opposite my Dad. Every year she'd say 'no wine for me', and every year she finished the bottle. Then she'd fall asleep by the fire and my brother would put tinsel on her head and take a photo."

Mary Ann leaned into him. "I miss Christmas at home, too," she said softly. "But we have good Christmases here, don't we? We make the best of things. We've never lost sight of what's important. Family and friendship, honesty and goodwill. Those things are the same wherever we go. You said so yourself- you've always loved Christmas, no matter where you are."

They stood watching the ocean for a while longer, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Gilligan reached into the depths of his front pocket. "I brought something with me," he said. He pulled out his hand and there was a sprig of mistletoe, slightly squashed and bent out of shape, but still recognisable, and still with the ribbon attached.

Mary Ann's eyes widened in amazement. "Gilligan! Where did you get that?"

"I figured Ginger wouldn't kiss me without mistletoe, so whenever I found myself standing under some, I took it off so she wouldn't see it."

Mary Ann stifled a giggle. "Poor Ginger. You know if she finds out, she'll hold it against you."

He gave a lopsided smile. "That's why I took it. So she _wouldn't_ hold anything against me."

"You know Mrs. Howell won't be very happy when she finds out what you've done."

"She won't notice a few missing. She must have put up hundreds." Gilligan twirled the mistletoe, pleased as punch with himself.

"So what do you intend to do with it? Throw it in the ocean? Bury it in the sand?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Gilligan appraised the mistletoe, which was made out of braided palm leaves interwoven with a gold ribbon. "It's too pretty to throw away," he mused.

Mary Ann gently extricated the sprig from between his fingers. "Then why don't we hang it up?"

"Out here?" Gilligan watched Mary Ann tie the sprig to an overhanging branch. "No-one comes out here."

"You never know." Mary Ann made a neat bow with the yellow ribbon and smoothed it out, admiring its rich, golden sheen. "Mr. and Mrs. Howell may come walking out here one day and see it, long after Christmas is over. It'll be a nice surprise for them!"

"What about Ginger? I might come out here one day and Ginger will be waiting for me under the tree."

Mary Ann laughed. "Gilligan, Ginger's not exactly a poisonous viper. Why are you so frightened of giving her a kiss?"

"I don't give Ginger kisses, she takes them," said Gilligan. The corners of his mouth turned down.

Mary Ann stood beneath the mistletoe, digging the tip of her shoe in the dirt. "What about me? Are you frightened of kissing me?"

"You're different," Gilligan replied.

"Different how?"

Gilligan looked at the ground. He shrugged, burying his chin in his shoulder. "I don't know," he murmured. "You just are."

"Is that why you asked me to run away with you?" She tried to see his face, but his hat was in the way.

There was a long pause.

"Maybe," he said, shyly.

Mary Ann took a deep breath and then beckoned him over with her hand. "Come on, Gilligan. No-one can see us out here. I promise not to kiss you like Ginger."

Gilligan looked up, startled. "You want to kiss me?"

"Why not? I'm under the mistletoe. And you know what the Professor said. It's tradition."

Gilligan felt the panic rising. Then he remembered how the Professor had kissed Mary Ann, and how he had made her laugh. The Professor made it look so easy. He remembered how he had felt, hiding in the hut like a big fat coward, watching them through the open window. The feeling that he had to do something, _anything_, to escape from the fluttery ache in his chest that wouldn't go away.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Gilligan went over to the tree and stood in front of Mary Ann under the mistletoe. He lifted his hands, unsure of where to put them. He settled for resting them lightly on her shoulders and wondered if she could feel that they were shaking.

Mary Ann tilted her face up and closed her eyes expectantly. She waited for the kiss, but it didn't come. Finally she opened her eyes and saw that he looked terrified.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted.

Mary Ann smiled up at him, placing her hands gently on either side of his waist. "Just do it," she said, gently. "It'll be fine." She closed her eyes again and waited. This time she sensed the nearness of his face, the smell of his hair tonic, the warmth of his skin. And then she felt the brush of his lips against hers, the faint scratchiness of his chin as he applied a little more pressure, and then a little more.

And then he was gone.

Mary Ann's eyes stayed closed for a moment. She gripped his shirt to steady herself as the earth whirled beneath her feet. When she opened them she found Gilligan blinking dazedly, as though he'd just knocked back a shot of Mr. Howell's finest brandy. "You see?" she whispered. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "I didn't expect it to feel that way."

Mary Ann reached up and touched the side of his face. "That's because I don't want anything from you, Gilligan. Except your friendship and your company, which I enjoy more than anything else in the world."

Gilligan began to shuffle awkwardly. "Gee, Mary Ann, that's nice of you to say, but I'm really not..."

Mary Ann put her hand over his mouth just like the Skipper did, startling him. "Whatever you were about to say to put yourself down, it isn't true. You're very special, Gilligan. If I didn't think so, I wouldn't have run away with you. Would I?" She took her hand away, smiling at the bashful expression on his face.

Gilligan gazed down at her. Her cheeks were flushed and shining. He thought he had never seen anyone look more beautiful. Maybe the Skipper was right. Maybe there was something that he hadn't yet discovered about girls, something with the power to amaze him, something that would knock him off his feet.

Or maybe it was just Mary Ann that made him feel like this.

"Come on," he said. "Let's run away some more. I'm not ready to go back just yet." He grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the path.

Mary Ann held back, pointing upwards. "What about the mistletoe? Should we bring it with us?"

"Leave it there, it's okay. Besides..." Gilligan dug his hand into his pocket and showed her the contents. "Look. I brought three more."

Mary Ann's eyes flew wide. "You didn't!"

"I did," he grinned. "When I said I wasn't gonna kiss Ginger, I meant it!"

Mary Ann couldn't contain her laughter at the obvious pride in his voice. Once again she took his hand and followed him into the depths of the jungle, not even caring where they ended up, as long as they were together.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you again everyone, for all the great reviews and feedback! With Christmas only two days away, it's lovely to know that you're still following the story and taking the time to let me know what you think. xx_

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><p><span>Chapter Seven<span>

Ginger managed to trap the Professor in the doorway to the Supply Hut and was covering his face in sweet, soft kisses. "Please, Ginger, I have work to do," he protested, feebly.

"All work and no play makes Roy Hinkley a dull boy," Ginger purred, running her fingers through his hair.

"Maybe," he replied, biting back a sigh as she tickled the tip of his ear, "but no work at all means no water, no food, no drainage, no sanitation, no..."

"No fun," Ginger pouted, her lips just inches from his. "That's what you are."

"On the contrary," he gulped, pressing further back against the doorway, "I know several jokes. Some of them quite humorous!"

Ginger brushed her lips against his cheek. "Here's a joke for you," she murmured huskily. "Knock knock."

The Professor squeezed his eyes shut as her lips reached his earlobe and sent a tingle of electricity down his spine. "Wh-who's there?"

"Kissimmee."

"K-Kissimmee who?"

"Kissimmee, you fool," Ginger whispered, and locked her mouth firmly onto his, winding her arms tightly around his neck.

The Skipper came hurrying across the clearing. He looked worried. "Has anyone seen Gilligan? I can't find him anywhere!"

Ginger broke away from the Professor and smiled with satisfaction at the glazed look in his eyes. "Mary Ann's missing too. Perhaps they're together."

The Skipper stood in front of the Supply Hut, trying to ignore the sight of Ginger and the Professor wrapped adoringly around each other. The Professor coughed politely. His hair was all messed up. "You don't seem that bothered about it," the Skipper accused.

"Why should I be?" Ginger shrugged. "They're both grown people." She turned back to the Professor. "Gilligan's no fun, anyway. Not like you boys."

The Skipper sighed. "It's all this mistletoe. It's too much for my Little Buddy. Maybe he went to his cave."

"He'll be fine," Ginger said, patting the Skipper's arm. "And so will Mary Ann. Besides, if they're together, who's to say we won't be interrupting anything? Hmm?"

The Skipper became flustered. "Gilligan isn't like that! Why, Gilligan was so dead set against kissing I had to tell him the mistletoe was for the Howells!" Too late, he clamped his mouth shut.

Ginger threw her head back and laughed throatily. "I don't think we have anything to worry about, Skipper. Gilligan and Mary Ann can look after themselves. Now- how about you come here and tell me who the mistletoe was _really_ for?"

The Professor squirmed his way out of Ginger's clutches. With a sigh of surrender, the Skipper took his place, blushing to the roots of his greying blond hair as Ginger proceeded to paint his cheeks with lipstick.

After leaving the cliff, Gilligan and Mary Ann headed inland through lush tropical groves, past giant bamboo stalks that towered towards the heavens and made them feel tiny. A clearwater spring bubbled and trickled nearby and Gilligan stopped for a drink. "Have some," he said. "It's clean."

"Are you sure?" Mary Ann hunched down beside him. She scooped water into her cupped palms and for a moment she saw herself reflected, wisps of loosened hair falling around her face, before the water began to trickle through her fingers.

"Sure, I'm sure. Taste it, you'll see."

Mary Ann put her lips to the water and drank. "You're right," she agreed. "It's lovely!" Thirstier than she'd realised, she scooped more and more water until she'd drunk her fill, then Gilligan lent her his handkerchief to wipe the excess water from her chin.

They walked for a while along the banks of the stream. Gilligan found a stick and used it to turn over stones and leaves, watching small beetles scurry out from underneath.

"I hope you don't think I was too forward, before," said Mary Ann. "Asking you to kiss me."

Gilligan scratched the stick through the dirt. "No, it's okay. I guess I...well, I figured I would, eventually. You know. Kiss you."

"By choice?" Mary Ann teased. "Or because you had to?"

Gilligan gave another awkward shrug. "Maybe because I wanted to."

Mary Ann watched the end of the stick swish through the grass. "It was okay though, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was okay. It was nice. It was different."

"Different?"

"Different to kissing Ginger, I guess."

Mary Ann sighed. "That's because I'm not Ginger," she said. "I'm Mary Ann."

"And I'm glad you are," he replied, banging the stick against a tree. "Mary Ann, I mean."

Mary Ann linked her arm through his and smiled up at him. He looked pensive, unsure of himself, as though he were being torn in two different directions at once. "Shall we hang some more mistletoe, or is it too soon?" she ventured.

"If you want." Gilligan dug into his pocket and produced a crumpled sprig of something evergreen, tied with a blue checkered bow.

Mary Ann took it from him and slipped it onto a nearby branch, hooking the tip of a twig under the bow and wedging it into place. "There," she said, beaming. "Perfect."

"I definitely don't think the Howells come out this far," Gilligan said. "I don't even think Ginger comes out this far."

"Oh, Gilligan- can't I get you to stop talking about Ginger?"

"I'm sorry," he said, shyly.

"That's okay," she replied, "I know you don't mean it. Anyway, this one isn't for the Howells." She held out her hand and beckoned him over. He hesitated for just a moment, then he propped his stick against the tree and joined her under the mistletoe. For the second time that day, Mary Ann revelled in Gilligan's nearness. The red of his rugby shirt filled her vision and the warmth of him radiated through her. "I could get used to this," she smiled, walking her fingertips up his chest, "being the only two people in the world." Then everything went still and quiet, except for the beating of her heart, as Gilligan bent his head and pressed his lips awkwardly, but gently, to hers.

"Oh, dear, Thurston," Mrs. Howell clutched at her pearls. "Do you think perhaps we went a little overboard with the mistletoe? Those poor men can't seem to get away from her!"

Mr. Howell reclined further back in his lounge chair, sipping on a lavishly decorated cocktail as he watched Ginger chase the Skipper and the Professor around the clearing. "Well, I think it's splendid entertainment, Lovey. I'd say this even beats a night at the opera, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know about that," Mrs. Howell said, peering through her lorgnette.

"Hmm, maybe you're right. It's more like amateur dramatics evening at the local sanatorium."

"Well, I do I hope they're having fun. That's all I wanted. I didn't realise she'd turn into quite such a maneater!"

"Darling, that _is_ some people's idea of fun," Mr. Howell drawled. "Besides, it's about time that Egghead let his socks down!"

"You're quite right, of course, Thurston. But I can't say I remember people chasing each other all around the room at the Country Club. Do you?"

"More's the pity." Mr. Howell guffawed loudly as Ginger caught the Skipper and planted a big, wet kiss in the center of his forehead. "I wouldn't have minded renewing my annual subscription."

"Professor, remind me to kill Gilligan when I see him," the Skipper panted, having run all the way around the back of the huts in order to avoid Ginger.

"What for?" the Professor gasped, equally breathless from having done the same thing.

"For not trying hard enough to convince me that mistletoe was a very bad idea!"

Gilligan and Mary Ann reached the lower slopes of the volcano. Mary Ann tugged on his shirt sleeve. "Gilligan? Would you mind awfully if we didn't go up there? My feet are beginning to ache."

"Do you want to sit down?"

She nodded. "A rest would be nice. And it's pretty here, too."

They found an old log in a small, sunny clearing and sat down. "Look," said Gilligan. "There's a butterfly. I think it's the Pussycat Swallowtail!"

They watched the butterfly whirl overhead, looping and twisting higher and higher until it was over the trees and gone.

"I don't know if it was the Pussycat Swallowtail." Gilligan tapped his fingers against his lips. "It wasn't really the right color."

"It doesn't matter what it was, it was beautiful," Mary Ann said.

They sat in silence, listening to the birds and the gentle whirr of insects. A bee flew past, and then another butterfly, but smaller and not quite as vivid.

"I bet they've noticed we're missing," Gilligan said after a while.

Mary Ann felt a pang of guilt. "Maybe we should have left a note."

"I thought about it." He looked at her almost apologetically. "I wasn't even going to tell you, until I realised you were trying to find me."

"You knew, and you waited all that time?"

He nodded. "I just wanted to get away. Not from you, though," he added swiftly.

Mary Ann reached across and placed her hand over his, stroking his bony knuckles with her thumb. He looked down, but he didn't pull away. "I missed you, even though you weren't gone long. I looked everywhere."

Gilligan studied his feet. His sneakers were filthy, caked with dried mud. "I know. I heard you calling."

She squeezed his hand, curling her fingers into his palm. "And the mistletoe, Gilligan. Why did you keep it with you, instead of hiding it away somewhere?"

"I don't know," he said, vaguely. "I guess I just felt like holding on to it. Maybe in case..."

"You needed it?" Mary Ann said, hesitantly finishing what he couldn't say himself.

Gilligan smiled shyly. "I've still got two left," he said, pulling them out. They were both as crumpled and bent as each other, their ribbons all knotted and creased. He stared at them, mournfully. "Maybe I shouldn't have kept them in my pocket."

"Oh, well," Mary Ann said. "They wouldn't have lasted forever anyway."

Gilligan turned them over in his hands. He thought about the sprig he'd made himself. He wondered if there were any leaves left on it at all, and whether anyone would ever kiss under it. Wordlessly, he held up a sprig and raised his eyebrow.

Mary Ann sighed, rubbing her heel. "I'd like to, Gilligan, but right now I'm too tired to stand up."

"Do we have to? The Professor just said 'when a man and a woman meet under mistletoe'. He didn't say they had to be on their feet." Gilligan reached for his stick, laid it across his lap and fastened the mistletoe to the end of it. Then he wedged the stick into the ground behind them, twisting it until the end was buried deep in the soft earth. "There," he said, dusting his hands together. "Now it's above us. Kind of. If we lean over a bit."

Mary Ann giggled. "Gilligan, you're a genius."

He smiled bashfully. "That's something I don't get called very often."

Mary Ann reached up and ran her hand along his collar, tugging him gently towards her. "Maybe it's something you'd hear if you spent more time with me," she smiled.

Gilligan parted his lips to say something but before he could answer, she kissed him. She cupped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close, and soon there were more butterflies than either of them could ever have imagined.


	8. Chapter 8

_Yikes- Christmas is tomorrow! Are you ready?_

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><p><span>Chapter Eight<span>

They walked back to camp hand in hand, singing Christmas carols out of tune. Mary Ann's legs ached but her heart soared. The kiss they'd shared on the log had set her soul alight, and when Gilligan finally put his arms around her she thought she would die from happiness. His kissing technique- if you could call it that- was a little bit awkward, a little bit clumsy and hesitant, but to Mary Ann it was perfect in every way. He treated her like a fragile piece of glass, as though her lips would shatter if he pressed too hard. As much as she had imagined him kissing her in the heat of passion, she wanted him to remain this way- shy and gentle. That was what made him Gilligan, and that was what she loved him for.

_Loved? _She had always loved him as a friend. He was kind and courteous, warm and generous and nearly always in a good mood. It was easy to love him. Klutzy as he was, Gilligan drew people to him like a magnet. Maybe he then proceeded to annoy the heck out of them, but somehow that didn't matter. Once you met Gilligan you couldn't forget him. And once you loved him, it was easy to keep on loving him, until one day you woke up and realised you were _in_ love with him.

"I wish we didn't have to go back so soon," she said, wistfully.

"My stomach says it's time to eat," said Gilligan. "And I never argue with my stomach."

She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. "We still have one piece of mistletoe left."

"And there's plenty more where that came from," Gilligan grinned.

He was right. There was enough mistletoe to decorate the whole island if they wanted to.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand. "For letting me run away with you."

"Thank you for letting me let you run away with me," he said, shooting her a sidelong glance.

She bumped into him deliberately, and he bumped into her, and she giggled and bumped him back. "I had fun," she said. "You know. Exploring."

"I had fun too," he replied. "Exploring."

They began singing Silent Night, and then gave up because neither of them could remember all the words. Mary Ann coughed and cleared her throat. "I'm glad you changed your mind, Gilligan. You know- about kissing. I know it was difficult for you. I know you've never really enjoyed it. I'm glad I didn't scare you off."

Gilligan looked down at her. He decided he liked the shape of her nose, and the way she bit her lip when she was nervous. Like she was doing right now. "I guess I had to find out what it was like sometime. To kiss someone I wanted to kiss."

"Was it really Ginger who made you so scared?"

He shook his head. "No. I kind of had some bad experiences before. A long time ago."

"I'm sorry," she said, squeezing his arm.

"It's okay," he shrugged. "Like I said, it was a long time ago."

"And then you got stuck on an island with a vivacious movie star," Mary Ann smiled.

"Yeah," he replied. "Just my luck, huh?"

"Gilligan! Here's your cave!" Mary Ann exclaimed as they rounded a corner.

"Oh, yeah. How 'bout that? My cave."

They went over to the cave and stood in the shelter of the outer cavern. Gilligan looked down at the tiny entrance hole. You had to get on your hands and knees and crawl into it. Vines hung down around them, and the rock wall felt cool to the touch. "Don't worry, I'm not going in," he said. "I'm not a Lone Wolf today."

Mary Ann looked up at the knot of vines and tree roots over their heads. She glanced at Gilligan, coyly. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"Are you thinking this?" he said, pulling the last sprig of mistletoe out of his pocket.

"I might be," she giggled.

"I might be, too." Gilligan reached up and tied the mistletoe to the hanging tree roots and they watched the tails of red ribbon twisting and fluttering in the breeze. "It makes my cave look Christmassy," he said.

"It also means you have to kiss me again," Mary Ann told him. "For the fourth time."

"Fourth?" His eyes widened.

"Fourth," she nodded, gravely.

Gilligan frowned. He scratched his head. "Is that too much?" he asked.

"Not for me," she laughed.

He put his arms out and she went into them. He folded them around her, still a little unused to being this close to someone. _A girl. Being this close to a girl. _And not just any girl- a girl who liked him, who actually liked him and accepted him for who he was, faults and all. A part of him still didn't believe it, but if Mary Ann had said it then it must be true.

She liked him.

He liked her.

So maybe, after three whole years of being shipwrecked with her, it was time he plucked up the courage to show it.

They stood under the mistletoe with their arms around each other. Their lips met, softly at first, and then with increasing pressure, until Mary Ann felt as if she were floating on air. Sure, their noses bumped. Sure, he forgot to breathe. Sure, his hands were shaking, she could feel the tiny tremors reverberating against her ribs. But she had never felt such heat as this, rising up in the pit of her stomach and tingling down her arms and legs. She wanted this kiss to go on and on forever. She wanted them to be the only people left in the world, to want and need and depend on each other until the end of their days.

When the kiss ended, he looked at her face, studying her expression. "Penny for your thoughts," he said, a little anxiously.

"I was just thinking that this could possibly be one of the best Christmases of my life," she said, gazing up at him through heavy lidded eyes.

"Funny," he said, smiling with relief. "I was kind of thinking the same thing, too."

When they got back to camp, a chorus of cheers awaited them. "Little Buddy! Where have you been?" The Skipper bellowed his greetings across the clearing, as though Gilligan had returned after ten years in the wilderness.

"Oh, me and Mary Ann went for a walk," Gilligan said. "As it was a nice day and all."

"Gilligan, you naughty boy. I still haven't had my kiss," said Ginger, pouting.

Gilligan studied the Professor and the Skipper. They looked dishevelled but happy, their faces smeared all over with Ginger's tell-tale lipstick marks. "Looks like they got my share," he grinned.

"They've certainly been putting the mistletoe to good use!" Mrs. Howell exclaimed.

_So have we, Mrs. Howell,_ thought Mary Ann, feeling the heat creeping into her cheeks. _So have we._

Over lunch, everyone laughed about the mistletoe shenanigans that had gone on all morning.

"I must say, I never _dreamed_ it would take off so well!" Mrs. Howell said gaily. "Although I must say I did worry about the poor Captain at one point. My dear, you hardly let the poor man come up for air!"

"What can I say?" Ginger simpered, preening her hair. "It's a talent."

"And _what_ a talent!" The Skipper winked at the Professor, fanning his face with his hand.

"And what about you youngsters?" Mrs. Howell continued, turning to Mary Ann. "Where did you disappear off to all morning? I hope you were behaving yourselves!"

A loud silence descended on the table, broken only by Gilligan choking on his mango juice.

"We went exploring, didn't we, Gilligan?"

"Uh-huh," Gilligan mumbled, wiping mango juice off his chin.

"Exploring, and looking for butterflies."

"Yeah," said Gilligan, nodding in agreement. "Butterflies."

"Well, that's wonderful," Mrs. Howell said. "We were all worried you'd eloped!"

"What's 'eloped'?" asked Gilligan.

"It's when you run away to get married," said the Skipper.

"Oh," said Gilligan. And promptly choked on his mango juice again.

The conversation picked up again and everyone started talking about Christmas. It was only a couple of days away. The tree was decorated and they had plenty of food and the huts were neat and tidy. They laughed about what they were going to give each other as gifts that they hadn't already given each other the year before, and the year before that. How many times could you wrap up a coconut? Gilligan wondered if Santa Claus would pay them another visit. Laughter rang out around the table. Everyone was in good cheer. Christmas was coming and there were festive songs on the radio. Bing Crosby and Burl Ives, bringing a little bit of home to the island, and fond memories to each of the castaways.

After lunch, Ginger found Mary Ann in their hut, brushing out her hair. "Butterflies?" she smiled, folding her arms.

"That's right," Mary Ann replied, staring intently at her reflection in the mirror.

"Butterflies." Ginger leaned forward and studied Mary Ann's face.

"Yes, Ginger, butterflies. You'd be surprised how many butterflies there are, and how you find them in the most unexpected places." Mary Ann looked up at Ginger with a guileless smile, and in moments the two of them were laughing.

"I'm proud of you Mary Ann," Ginger said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "I hope you know that!"

Mary Ann looked at herself in the mirror and wondered what was different about her. Then she decided that it wasn't about the way she looked at all. It was the way she felt, as though there was a bubble of happiness inside her, a fizzy explosion of joy, of optimism, and of hope that the coming year would be a good one. "You know something, Ginger?" she said, turning to the movie star with a genuine smile full of warmth, "I hope it doesn't sound bigheaded, but I'm kind of proud of me, too."

Out in the clearing, the Skipper heard their laughter and turned to Gilligan. "Tell me, Gilligan. Isn't that the most wonderful sound you ever heard? It's got to be better than those darn Mosquitoes!"

Gilligan came over and stood next to the Skipper. He turned his head towards the hut, listening intently for a few seconds. He picked out Ginger's laugh, throaty and seductive. And then he heard Mary Ann. She sounded so happy. Her voice rose and fell and her laughter somehow reminded him of the bubbling, clearwater stream. A feeling of warmth spread over him, because when she was happy, he was happy. And suddenly he knew exactly what the Skipper was talking about. "You're right, Skipper," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "That's just the kind of music I could listen to all day."


	9. Chapter 9 Christmas Day

_**It's Christmas!**_

_**MERRY CHRISTMAS AND GLAD TIDINGS TO ALL, AND ALL THE VERY BEST FOR A PEACEFUL AND HAPPY 2012 xoxo**_

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><p><span>Chapter Nine- Christmas Day<span>

Christmas Day dawned like any other day on the island but like Christmas Day everywhere, it felt different. It was in the air, in the trees, even in the birdsong. Everything felt Christmassy.

Mr. Howell awoke to find his wife sitting on the edge of his bed in her chiffon nightgown. "Lovey," he said, groggily. "Is there something the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter, darling," she smiled. "I was just watching you sleep. Like I used to, when we were first married."

Mr. Howell yawned widely and scratched his armpit.

"Before you started doing _that._"

"I'm sorry, my love," he apologised. "Blasted sand gets everywhere."

Mrs. Howell leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. "Merry Christmas, Thurston."

"Is it that time already?" Mr. Howell replied. "Remind me to give the staff a half-day off."

"There are no staff, darling. Unless you mean Gilligan."

"Gilligan is more of a company liability," Mr. Howell chuckled.

"I didn't know what to get you for Christmas," Mrs. Howell said, sadly. "After all, we already have everything."

Mr. Howell looked fondly at his wife. Even first thing in the morning she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He smiled wickedly and scooted over in the bed. "Care to join me, Gorgeous?"

"Thurston!" she exclaimed, shock registering on her delicate features. "Whatever are you suggesting?"

"But, Lovey- it'll be even more like when we were first married." Her husband leered theatrically.

"How naughty of you to remember that!" Mrs. Howell giggled.

"Darling. How could I ever forget the way I used to fall asleep in the Boardroom from sheer exhaustion?"

"Oh, you _know_ that's not true." Mrs. Howell smacked his leg, but her eyes twinkled merrily. Her husband pulled the blanket back and waited.

"Pretty please? With Christmas bells?"

"Oh, all right, Thurston, as you're so _insistent_," she said, pretending to be scandalized. "But first- I believe there's something missing."

"Besides you?" Mr. Howell watched her cross the room and pick something up from the table.

"No," Mrs. Howell smiled. "Mistletoe!" With that, she tied the biggest sprig of all to the headboard and climbed into bed beside her husband, feeling very naughty indeed.

"Happy Talk on Christmas morning! What better gift is there?" Mr. Howell chortled, and turned Teddy over so that the little bear found himself staring at the wall.

Ginger approached the Supply Hut to give the Professor his gift. Even though she'd been chasing him around the campsite for the better part of the week, she suddenly felt shy. When she tapped on the door and peeked in, he appeared flustered and stood in front of the table, as though he were hiding something. "Is this a bad time?" she asked, hesitating in the doorway.

"No! No, Ginger, please- come in." The Professor looked happy to see her, so she went in.

"I brought you a gift," she said, holding out a small package wrapped in green silk.

The Professor thanked her with a kiss on the cheek, which made her blush, although she wasn't sure why. He opened it carefully and smiled when he saw what was inside. Ginger had made him a pendant. She had taken a smooth, flat stone and threaded it onto a long strip of leather which was attached to the stone with a gold hook from one of her necklaces.

"I found that pretty stone on the shoreline," Ginger told him. "It looks grey now, but when it's wet, it goes bright pink."

The Professor's smile grew wider. "Bright pink, eh?" His eyebrows raised. He lifted the stone and ran his thumb over the smooth surface.

"And I thought that swirl in the middle looks a bit like a 'P', don't you think? For 'Professor'."

"It does indeed," he chuckled.

"Turn it over," she insisted. "Go on."

He did as she asked. On the back of the stone she had written, in the smallest of letters, 'the show must go on'.

"For when Gilligan ruins your experiments, or a rescue attempt fails," Ginger said, hoping he wouldn't be offended.

The Professor stared at the inscription. He blinked. What was this tight feeling in his chest? Perhaps there had been a drop in air pressure. "It's beautiful, Ginger," he said, softly. "It's really quite beautiful. Thank you."

Ginger let out the breath she'd been holding and clasped her hands under her chin. "Oh, I'm so glad you like it, Professor!"

"I shall wear it immediately," he promised. "As soon as I give you your gift." He turned around and revealed what he'd been standing in front of. "I'm sorry it isn't wrapped," he said. "I didn't want to damage it."

Ginger squealed, with delight and amusement. "It's a fern!"

"Yes, it's a fern," the Professor grinned. "And the reason why I picked this particular fern is because usually it grows in clusters, many of the same type of fern all together. But this one was on its own, in amongst another genus of fern that grows much more commonly. It stood out, should I say. I noticed it immediately. And the first person I thought of was you."

Ginger admired the fern. It was tall and feathery, like angel hair. The Professor had planted it in a chunky clay pot he'd found in one of the caves. "It looks so fragile," she said, stroking a finger along its fronds.

"It does, but its roots are strong. It's actually one of the hardiest ferns there is. Let's just say, it would take a strong gust of wind to knock this baby over."

Ginger laughed and threw her arms around the Professor's neck. "Are you comparing me to a fern?" she teased, bringing her lips close to his.

"Why not?" the Professor replied, with a twinkle. "After all, you know how I feel about ferns."

And then they kissed, without a sprig of mistletoe in sight.

Gilligan knocked on the door to the girls' hut.

"Come in, Gilligan!" called Mary Ann.

He went in. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, watching her tie her hair into pigtails.

"I always know when it's you," she smiled. "You have a special knock."

"I do?" he looked at his knuckles, puzzled over them for a bit, then shrugged. "I brought you something," he said.

Over the last couple of days, Gilligan had hidden himself away in his hut- not because he was avoiding Ginger this time, but because he had said he was working. He had even hung a sign on the door that said "Do NoT DISTerB" (with the 'S' pointing backwards). Now, as he stood in front of Mary Ann with his hands behind his back, she wondered if this was what he had been working on.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand," he told her.

"No spitballs?" Mary Ann teased him.

He shook his head from side to side. "No spitballs," he promised.

Mary Ann did as he asked her to, and felt him put something in her hand. "You can open your eyes now," he said. "I'm sorry it's not wrapped. I didn't want to break it."

Mary Ann opened her eyes. There in her hand was an angel. It was about eight inches tall, made from the chunk of wood Gilligan had put aside for whittling. It had a slightly misshapen, triangular body and a rounded, golf ball sized head. He had given it a pair of stick-like arms, although one was pointing upwards and the other was sticking straight out, giving it the appearance of a little traffic cop. He had wrapped a scrap of red felt around its body for a shirt, and had cut up one of his white handkerchiefs to make a little hat for its head. Lastly, he had used some of the Professor's black ink and dotted on two eyes, but the right eye was slightly smudged, as though he had coughed or hiccuped in the middle of applying it. It looked as though the angel was winking.

"It's a Gilligan angel!" Mary Ann laughed with delight. She held it by the string that was attached to its back and twirled it around and around, watching its little arms waving as it spun.

"I thought maybe we could hang him on the tree, to keep the other angel company. That is- if you want to."

"Of course we should. He's adorable!" Mary Ann said. "But, Gilligan- where are his wings?"

Gilligan dropped his head shyly. "He hasn't earned them yet. I guess you could say he's still in training."

Mary Ann balanced the Gilligan angel on the table and stood up to put her arms around the real Gilligan's waist. Her nose reached the buttons of his collar and then there was his Adam's apple, bobbing nervously in his throat, a dead giveaway. She looked up into his blue-green eyes and smiled with tenderness and love. "It's the best Christmas gift I've ever received," she said. "And that's the honest truth."

"I'm glad you like it," he said, blushing.

"I got you something too." She tapped him playfully on the end of his nose, then opened the top drawer of the dresser and took out a small, wrapped parcel. "Be careful opening it," she said.

Gilligan took the parcel with a wry grin. "You know who you're talking to, right?"

She grinned. "I know you can do it."

Gilligan picked off the wrapping as carefully as he could. His eyes widened in delight when he saw what Mary Ann had made him.

Mary Ann had taken three pebbles of varying sizes and glued them one on top of the other. The bottom pebble was big and round, the middle pebble was middle-sized and the top pebble was the smallest, not quite round, but full of character. Once they were glued together she had painted the whole thing white, then dotted on two eyes and a smiling mouth and a row of buttons down the front. Lastly, she had added a little blue scarf and a hat made from a bottle cap, one from Gilligan's own bottle cap collection.

"It's a snowman!" he exclaimed.

Mary Ann watched his face light up. "I know how much you miss snow at Christmas, " she said. "I'm only sorry I can't give you the real thing."

"But this is _better_ than the real thing," he laughed. "'Cause this snowman won't melt on December 26th!"

"And now I have something else for you," she whispered.

"Something else?" he uttered, nervously.

"Mm-hmm." She took the snowman from his hand and set it down on the table, then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him until his toes curled.

When they went outside to hang the Gilligan angel on the tree, they found the Skipper sitting at the table, nursing a tot of whisky from the bottle that Mr. Howell had given him the night before. He was staring at the tree, lost in deep thought.

"Merry Christmas, Skipper," Gilligan said, standing right in the Skipper's line of vision.

The Skipper blinked and looked up, breaking into a broad smile when he saw the two youngest castaways. "Merry Christmas, Little Buddy! Merry Christmas, Mary Ann. I'm sorry- I was miles away."

"Merry Christmas, Skipper." Mary Ann gave him a sympathetic smile, then held up the angel for him to see. "Look what Gilligan made!"

The Skipper let out a booming laugh as he admired Gilligan's handiwork. "So that's what you were doing in the hut all that time!"

"Yeah," said Gilligan, grinning. "And that reminds me- I have something for you too!"

While Gilligan was gone, Mary Ann sat down and peered intently at the Skipper. "You looked lost, Skipper. Are you all right?"

The Skipper picked up his whisky glass and swirled the contents. He chuckled apologetically. "Sure, Mary Ann. I'm fine. Really. I always get a little thoughtful at Christmas. It's just how I am."

Mary Ann reached out and placed her hand gently on top of his. "You know you have family here, Skipper. And we all love you, very much. You saw us through that storm- if it hadn't been for you, we would have- well, I don't need to tell you." She squeezed his fingers, noting how big they looked compared to hers. "You remind me of my Uncle George. Big, strong, tall and brave, but gentle and kind underneath. If I was going to be stranded with anyone, I would want it to be someone like you."

The Skipper raised his eyes from his whisky glass and gave Mary Ann a sheepish grin. "Thank you, Mary Ann," he said. "Thank you. Very much."

Gilligan returned. He ran across the clearing with his gift for the Skipper and skidded to a halt, spraying sand everywhere, including into the Skipper's whisky. "Here you are, Skipper! I made it 'specially for you!"

The Skipper took the hastily wrapped gift and weighed it in his hands. It was large and flat. "What on earth could it be?" he wondered aloud.

"Open it, open it!" cried Gilligan, jumping up and down. Meanwhile, the Professor and Ginger had come out of the Supply Hut to see what Gilligan was so excited about, and were soon followed by the Howells, who had dressed up for Christmas Day and looked magnificent in all their finery.

The Skipper ripped off the wrapping and held his gift aloft. It was a hand carved, varnished rectangular plaque with an uneven border going all the way around. In the top left hand corner Gilligan had painstakingly carved a crescent moon, and in the other corners he had carved three wonky stars. The inscription on the plaque read-

SNoRER OF THe YEaR

WINNeR 1966

CaPT. JONaS GrUMBy

"That's what took me the longest time," Gilligan grinned. "Getting all the spelling right."

The Skipper leapt to his feet and enveloped Gilligan in the biggest bear hug he'd ever known. "Gilligan! Why, I oughta-!"

Everyone laughed as the Skipper and Gilligan hugged, passing the plaque around so they could all admire it, chuckling over the uneven cluster of letters and the endearingly crooked little moon and stars.

"And now, Skipper, would you care to hang my angel on the tree?" said Mary Ann, when the Captain and crew of the Minnow had stopped affectionately slapping each other with their respective hats.

"Why, Mary Ann, it would be an honour to hang your angel on the tree!" The Skipper took the Gilligan angel carefully in both hands, reached up to a branch just below the cross-eyed angel and looped the string over the end so that the Gilligan angel nestled in between a glittery starfish and a fluttering hundred dollar bill. "There," he grinned, standing back. "How's that?"

"Perfect!" said Mary Ann, throwing her arms around the Skipper. "Just perfect!"

That evening as the sun set, the castaways piled the table high with food. Baked clams, fresh lobsters, roasted swordfish and crab, and mountains of steaming hot, fresh grown vegetables, with special festive fruit pies for dessert. Mary Ann swept the clearing and they brought out the cocophone and lit tiki torches all around the campsite. Every ornament on the tree sparkled or glittered or shone with the reflected light of the torches, and even the tree itself seemed to glow from within. With trailing ribbons in every colour denoting the presence of mistletoe on every branch and in every hut doorway, everyone was suddenly struck by how beautiful their little island home could be.

The castaways gathered together under various sprigs of mistletoe to hug each other fondly and wish each other a Merry Christmas. Ginger finally got her kiss from Gilligan, who took the initiative and bravely planted his lips on her cheek, making her squeal with joy. The Skipper received a kiss from Mary Ann and Ginger at the same time, each girl standing on either side of him and kissing him soundly on both cheeks until everyone else cheered and he blushed scarlet. Mr. and Mrs. Howell embraced discreetly and gently, not wishing to rumple each other's finery. Ginger wrapped her arms tightly around the Professor, and Mary Ann leaned against Gilligan, resting her head on his chest, feeling the buttons on his collar pressing into her cheek. There were choruses of 'Merry Christmas', 'Glad Tidings' and 'peace and prosperity to all', to which Mr. Howell raised his cup and said, "especially prosperity."

Much later, after they had eaten and drank their fill of Christmas dinner and Gilligan had put away three huge slices of Christmas coconut crème pie, the Professor put some music on and they danced, slowly, their stomachs fit to burst. The Professor allowed the Skipper to have the first dance with Ginger, and the Howells soon joined them. Mary Ann automatically began to clear the table, until Gilligan approached and took off his hat, clutching it tightly in his hand.

"Mary Ann, would you like to dance?" he stammered.

Mary Ann put down the plates she'd been stacking and gave him her widest smile. "Why, Gilligan! I'd love to!" she cried, fighting off the urge to throw herself bodily into his arms.

With a visible sigh of relief, Gilligan replaced his hat and led her out into the middle of the clearing. Once there, he turned to face her and put his arms out, pulling her into a clumsy embrace. She giggled as she bumped into him, and they did a sort of awkward shuffle for a few moments before both of them got comfortable. "I'm not used to this," he apologised.

"Practise makes perfect," she replied with a giggle.

They began to dance, moving in a lazy circle, not quite in time to the music. As the tree came into view, Mary Ann gave a small sigh. "Maybe I should have made my angel a little bigger," she wondered. "She looks a bit swamped by all the other, shinier decorations."

Gilligan lifted his head from where he'd rested it against Mary Ann's. He looked up at the tree. The cross-eyed angel perched on top, her chiffon wings almost luminous. In a way Mary Ann was right- there _were_ bigger, gaudier, more obvious decorations all competing to distract the eye. But as he gazed at the angel, he remembered something his mother had once told his sister while they searched for four-leafed clovers in the grass. He smiled over the top of Mary Ann's head and tightened his arms around her. "Sometimes you just have to look a little harder, to find the things worth seeing."

Mary Ann leaned back and looked up at his face. His eyes were shining, his hair unkempt beneath his ever present hat. She reached up and brushed his untidy bangs across his forehead, gently tracing the line of his eyebrow. "And do you see it, Gilligan?" she whispered.

"I see it," Gilligan nodded.

Mary Ann hugged him tightly, her heart soaring. "Merry Christmas, Gilligan," she said.

"Merry Christmas, Mary Ann," said Gilligan.

The music played on and the castaways continued to dance. The Skipper wound the cocophone and the Howells waltzed, while the Professor twirled a laughing Ginger in an impromptu tango. Gilligan and Mary Ann swayed gently together, lost in a world of their own. On top of the tree, Mary Ann's cross-eyed angel kept her silent watch over the festivities, and two branches down, the wingless Gilligan angel swung gently in the breeze, his arm reaching up towards her.

End


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